Lahat ng Kabanata ng Beauty and the Mafia Beast: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

[CAMI]By the time he comes back, I’m dressed, and my senses have returned. But it only takes a second, just one glance at that cold, dangerous face, to remember how I felt when he had his knee pressed between my thighs. This isn’t some fantasy. I try to hammer that in my head. Zeke is real. A fucking nightmare.But my mind feels broken. He strolls in with a bottle of champagne in one hand and that same devil’s grin on his face.“Thought we’d toast,” he says smoothly, lifting the bottle. “Newlyweds and all. Don’t tell me you’re a lightweight.”He pours into two glasses, the fizz catching the low light, and sits on the edge of the bed. Then he pats the space beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”I move—because what choice do I have?—and take the glass. His eyes are already on me, devouring.“It didn’t have to happen like this,” he says, sipping. “I’m guessing you pictured something different for your wedding day.”My jaw clenches, daring myself to cut him off, “You were

[CAMI]I dream of Daniel.Not his face—I can't seem to remember that. Just the maroon shirt he wore. Just the way his mouth skimmed my neck as he told me not to work too hard. It was just a random night. A random hookup. A way to blow off steam before an eventful day at work. And now he’s lying on the floor like Elio Mancini. There’s a hole in the middle of his forehead. Spiders crawl out of it instead of blood. Zeke hovers over him, gun still warm in his hand. Like it means nothing. As if Daniel was a weed to be pulled. Just a minor inconvenience. I wake with a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob. My hands grip the sheets, pulling them toward me, but the bed is too soft. Too clean. No color anywhere, just white on white.I know where I am.Zeke’s room.Where I walked into last night like a fucking idiot.The first few minutes really tested me.He’d taken off his shirt and just lay down on the bed beside me, all calm and easy. That body, cut from sin and stitched back together

[CAMI]Asshole.I don’t say it out loud, but I think it real hard as I turn around and walk away from Marco, my shoulders stiff and spine straighter than usual. The click of my heels on the marble floor sounds too loud in this place. Too... alone.Except I’m not. He follows me. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know he is right there, keeping pace like a loyal mutt with a smart mouth and a gun under his jacket. “Thought you weren’t here to leash me,” I say eventually, not bothering to stop.“Just making sure you don’t trip over a chandelier,” he replies easily.I roll my eyes. “That how your last wife died?”He lets out a soft, surprised laugh. “Damn. You’re spicier than I thought.”I keep walking. But when we turn the next corner, the air shifts. I don’t know how I sense it. Maybe it’s the weight in the silence. Or the shadow that lingers longer than it should.A man is standing in the corridor ahead, his posture unnervingly still. He wears black, of course. Everyone here seems

[ZEKE]Her hands are still on me. I let the silence linger. Let her feel the importance of what just happened.Lowering the gun slowly, I let it rest on the table beside us like it’s just another piece of cutlery. Her eyes flick to it, then back to me.“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she breathes.I smile. “You’re still here. That’s what’s wrong with me.”She tries to pull back, but my grip around her waist tightens, my fingers digging into her hips. “You kissed me,” I say. “Then you had the audacity to grind on my cock like a desperate little tease—like you thought I’d hand you the reins for moaning my name. But control, doll? That was never yours. You just got high off the illusion.”Her jaw clenches. That fire’s back.“You think this is power? Or was this your idea of being romantic?” she hisses. “Putting a gun to my chest while I’m kissing you? You want me to fall in love with that?”“No,” I murmur. “I want you to understand that I could ruin you in ways no one else would dare

[CAMI]I lose the next two days to fever and snot.Charming, I know.I spend them bundled under layers of blankets, oscillating between sweating and shivering, with tissues stuffed up my sleeves and pills lined up on the ghostly nightstand. The soup that was left behind? I hated how good it tasted. Now I just wish there was more.Marco becomes my shadow. He shows up with food I don’t finish and sarcasm I barely have the energy to return. He makes it his mission to make sure I don’t die of boredom or, you know, pneumonia.He brings me books. All crime thrillers, of course. Mafia-approved entertainment. I finish the one I started—Dead Heat—and realize halfway through chapter twenty that I actually like it. Then I hate myself a little for liking it.“You’re turning into one of us,” Marco claims when I tell him.“I’d rather drown in Nyquil.”He just laughs.We play chess in the afternoons. He always wins, but I’m getting better. I sacrifice pawns too easily, but I’m learning how to make h